The Toughest Prisoner of War Camp in Germany
by L. E. Wigman
Summary: A young officer finds his way home for Christmas with some help from the crew at Stalag Thirteen. [Best Original Character (Silver), PBA's 2018]
1. Christmas

****Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes. This story is for entertainment purposes only.  
The characters in this story are fictional, any resemblance to ********persons**** ** **living or dead is coincidental.****

* * *

Christmas in Georgia consisted of rain that drizzled down the window panes at a steady pace. It had been raining since the night before and gave no indication of letting up. Issac Wilkerson sat watching his sons as they played Monopoly with their own children. The toddlers, who were too young for board games, played with the toys they'd unwrapped less than an hour earlier. The screams and squeals of delight had subdued to contentment and joyful laughter.

Issac had always loved Christmas and this year was especially sweet because all of his family had gotten together for Christmas dinner. The radio was playing Christmas music in the background creating a warm, festive atmosphere. Issac chuckled when Andrew, his youngest son, playfully accused his brother, Peter, of cheating. Robert, his oldest son, broke up the playful wrestling that had ensued and insisted they get back to the game for the children's sake. Patty, his oldest granddaughter rolled her teenage eyes and propped a hand on her hip, "Come on, Uncle Andy, the babies are acting more mature than you are."  
"Yeah!" Peter agreed, "You landed on my Boardwalk Hotel fair and square! Now, pay up."  
Andy reluctantly mortgaged several properties in order to pay.

"Issac!"

Issac turned toward his wife, Lucy. Her once golden hair was now littered with gray and it was slipping out of its up-do. "Would you, please, keep the kids out of the kitchen?" she said, plopping a child on his lap and giving him a towel. "We'll never be done with dinner at this rate." she complained as she went back to the kitchen. Issac took the towel and wiped the whipped cream off of the child's chubby face. "Grandma doesn't like you eating her dessert before dinner, Bobby." he told the two year-old. The boy squirmed out of his grasp and ran over to his father, who let out a groan of surprise when the child jumped on his back. Robert rolled over slowly and caught his namesake in a hug.

The Monopoly game devolved into arguing again, only this time it was Louis who accused Peter of cheating. Issac cleared his throat loudly, "I think that's enough Monopoly for now. Why don't you take a fifteen minute break?"  
Patty stood and stretched, "I think you're right, Grandpa." she sat down on the couch and ordered her younger brother to turn on the television. "It's just a silly game." she added, airily.

"Grandpa, isn't this your plane." Eleven year-old, Jack asked bounding over with his new book on World War Two aircraft. Issac studied the illustration and shook his head, "No, that's a Marauder. I flew a Fortress."

"What was it like?" he asked, the eagerness in his voice was unmistakable.

"Breath-taking." Issac replied, smiling at his grandson's exuberance. "It's the most freeing thing you could possibly imagine. When the sky's clear you can see for miles. Mountain, rivers, lakes… you name it, they all look more beautiful from the sky." he winked, "I'll have to take you up sometime."

Jack got excited, "Really!? Could we go now? Please, Grandpa?"

Peter chuckled and draped an arm around his son's shoulder, "You can't fly in this kind of weather, Jack." Jack's shoulders drooped, "But, perhaps Grandpa could tell you one of his old war stories. Your uncles and I used to listen to them all the time when we were little."

"Yeah, Dad." Andy piped up, "Tell them about your escape from the prison camp."

"Would you like that, Jack?" Issac asked and almost laughed when the boy nodded so quickly that he resembled a bobble head. Jack settled on to the floor and some of his cousins and siblings also gathered around Issac's easy chair. The general consensus being that story time with Grandpa was always the best. "Well, now," Issac picked up his pipe and began to fill it from his small tobacco pouch, "where shall I begin?"

"How long were you in the camp?" Alan asked. Alan was Louis' only boy and he was the most studious nine year-old Issac had ever known.

Issac put the pouch back into the end table's drawer and lit his pipe, "I was shot down in August of '42. I was on the run for a week, before the krauts caught me. They questioned me for about three weeks."

"You didn't tell them anything, right?" Jack frowned.

"No," His grandfather assured him with a chuckle, "but afterward, I was taken to what they called a stalag. I was only there for about three months, before we escaped. The prisoners had started a tunnel months before I was captured." He puffed on his pipe, "We dug the tunnel out with spoons, sticks, or whatever we could find and if we couldn't find anything, we used our fingers. We completed the tunnel in early days of December, but we didn't try an escape until a couple of weeks later, about four days before Christmas. I remember all the guys joking that I'd be the most likely to make it out of Germany because I looked German with my blond hair and blue eyes." Issac smiled as he fondly remembered the ribbing, "I can still remember what Major Blackwell, our senior officer, told us before we climbed out of the tunnel..."

 **H~H**

"Alright, lads." Blackwell called down through the tunnel, "The tunnel opens right beside the forest. The goons in the watch towers can still see you, so watch for the spotlights." When all the men nodded, Blackwell continued, "Don't get into groups. Spread out. We want jerry to have quite a time looking for us."

I didn't know Blackwell too well, but he was a proper British officer who insisted that any and all orders be followed to the letter. Blackwell would peak out to make sure each man was in to the cover of the trees before tapping on the next man's shoulder. I was the fifth in line and I'll be honest with you, each time I inched forward a small pang of fear would bubble up. I reached the front of the line and Blackwell put a hand on my shoulder, just as he had all the men before me, "Good luck and be careful, yank."

I took a deep breath and stuck my head through the hole in the turf. The spotlight had just passed, so I pulled myself up and scrambled for the woods. I got behind a thick group of bushes as the spotlight came back around. I took several deep breaths and started to think about what my next move should be. I had spoken with a lot of the men in the stalag, especially the ones who had attempted escapes before. They all had one common theme, they ran. They didn't plan passed getting out of the stalag and across the border. Most of the men the ran south in hopes of making it to Switzerland, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I were the krauts that would be the first place I'd look. I made up my mind and went north. I thought perhaps I'd stow-away on a boat bound for one of the Nordic countries. I walked for miles before finding a road. I followed that road, but stayed off to the side in case any krauts came along.

It was mid-morning before I finally put my forged papers to the test. I found myself walking down the main street of this little town. It had a bakery, and a butcher's, and two or three little shops. I spotted a squad of Germans driving toward me. I got so nervous, I hadn't any idea if they were searching for me or if they were just passing through. I slipped into one of the little shops and was immediately relieved to find it was a cafe. I found a table near the back and studied the small, paper menu. I hoped that they would just drive past and leave the cafe alone.

" _ **Guten Morgen,**_ _ **w**_ _ **as kann ich Ihnen bringen?**_ "

I glanced up from the menu and met a smiling face. She was maybe twenty, definitely not any older, with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. I cleared my throat and pointed to something on the menu. She read it out and I nodded, adding the only few German words I knew, " _ **Und bier, bitte.**_ " The bell at the top of the door tinkled and we both looked up. My heart dropped when I spotted the krauts from the street. She smiled sweetly at me and left my table. She spoke to an older man in the kitchen before making her way to the soldiers. I tried my best to look inconspicuous and almost groaned when they sat down and began to order.

I fumbled with the table cloth and waited for an opportunity to get up and leave. I had just started to get up, when the girl returned to my table and placed a glass of beer in front of me. She rattled off several sentences and I nodded, smiling politely. She gave me an odd look, but left with out saying anything. I sipped my beer and watched the krauts out of the corner of my eye. They were laughing and not really paying much attention to anyone around them. The girl went back to the table and spoke quietly to the leader, a sergeant. He scowled at me and I tensed. _She's alerted him._ I thought, _There's no way to get out of the cafe, they're between me and the door… I could jump through th_ _at_ _window…_

I was considering doing just that when the girl placed a plate on my table. " _ **G**_ _ **enießen.**_ " she said, before going back to the kitchen. I looked down at my plate and grinned. I had ordered some sort of sausage and a pretzel. I picked up the silverware from the plate and cut into the sausage. I hadn't had any meat in months and the food at camp was hardly edible. I took a bite and closed my eyes, savoring the flavor before swallowing.

" _ **Sag mir, ist es gut?**_ " the sergeant called out. He seemed annoyed at me, " _ **Du hast das letzte Stück Wurst genommen. Also, ich hoffe, es ist gut.**_ " I pretended not to hear him and continued eating. " _ **Hey du da drüben… Gib mir eine Antwort!**_ " He stood and made his way over to my table. I looked up and tried to smile. " _ **Wie heißen Sie?**_ " he asked, angrily. When I didn't say anything, he grabbed the collar of my coat and pulled me to my feet. He repeated his question and gave me a rough shake. His comrades had turned and began to get up.

" _ **Warte ab! Was machst du mit ihm?**_ " the girl cried out as she hurried over to us. The sergeant's voice was low, almost a growl, as he spoke with her. She listened and then spoke quickly. The sergeant studied her and then me, " _ **Ist das wahr?**_ "The girl gave me a slight nod and I nodded slowly. He released me and spat, " _ **Ausweispapiere.**_ " That I understood; I pulled the papers out of my inside coat pocket and presented them without hesitation. He studied them while I waited anxiously. He grunted and shoved the papers back into my hands, " _ **Alles ist in Ordnung… genießen Sie Ihr Frühstück.**_ " he walked back to his table and flopped into his seat, still glowering. I took my seat and ate quietly while being sure to avoid his gaze.

The girl had gone back to the kitchen, but returned in a few minutes with a tray of food. She set the tray on the soldiers' table and set their food in front of them. She smiled at them sweetly before moving back to my table. " _ **français**_ _ **?**_ " she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Englishman?"  
My eyes snapped up to hers… she spoke English. "What are you going to do?" I asked, quietly.

She gave me a soft chuckle and began to clear my empty dishes, "Ah, you're an American."

"You didn't answer my question." my tone was sharp, but this was my life on the line and she didn't seem very concerned. She put the tray against her hip and said, "You need to get back to London and I know how to get you there. I'll get you some coffee and you stay until they go."

She didn't give me a chance to respond. So, I waited… and waited… almost an hour passed as the soldiers ate, drank, and joked with one another. The girl flitted between their table and the kitchen. I was beginning to think they'd never leave when the sergeant finally slapped some money on the table and roused the men from their seats. The girl escorted them to the door and bid them farewell.

As soon as the soldiers were out of sight, she turned back to me. "Papa!" she called, "Papa, come quick." The middle-aged man from the kitchen came in and gestured for me to sit back down. "Inge tells me you are American." he spoke English; however, unlike his daughter, his English was heavily accented and at times, halting. "Why are you here?"

I sighed, "I'm going home." they stared at me and, after a moment, I realized they wanted more, "I… I'm Lieutenant Wilkerson and I escaped from Stalag 13-D, last night."

"And you want help, ja?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want me to risk my life and Inge's to get you home?"

"I didn't ask for your help." I snapped, "and if your Inge hadn't of interfered, I'd be gone by now." Inge's eyes flashed, "Without me, you would be back at the stalag."

Heat rose to my cheeks because I knew she was right. That sergeant would have caught on to the fact that I didn't speak German and he would have sent me back to camp. I swallowed my pride, "You're right… I, uh… thank you."

Inge's father asked for my papers and when I turned them over, he inspected them. "Good, but they won't fool the Gestapo." he said, handing them back. He turned to Inge and spoke quickly. She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. "Where is she going?" I asked, as he led me around the counter to the staircase behind. "Where are you taking me?"

The man opened a door and guided me into a small bedroom, "For a man on the run, you ask too many questions. You've been running since you escaped, ja?" I nodded. He went over to the door and said, "You sleep now and later you'll go see Papa Bear." He shut the door behind him, even though I wanted to ask more questions.

I looked around for a moment before sitting on the bed. _Well,_ I thought as I stretched out on the bed, _I'm stuck in a cafe with everybody and their brother looking for me_ _and the crazy man downstairs_ _is talking fairy tales… Papa Bear,_ _my eye_ _…_ I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion take over.

* * *

 **Translation:  
** **Guten Morgen, was kann ich Ihnen bringen? - Good morning, what can I bring you?  
** **Und bier, bitte. - And beer, please.  
** **Genießen. - Enjoy  
** **Sag mir, ist es gut? - Tell me, is it good?  
** **Du hast das letzte Stück Wurst genommen. Also, ich hoffe, es ist gut. - You took the last piece of sausage. So, I hope it's good.  
** **Hey du da drüben… Gib mir eine Antwort! -Hey you over there... Give me an answer!  
** **Wie heißen Sie? - What's your name?  
** **Warte ab! Was machst du mit ihm? - Wait! What are you doing with him?  
** **Ist das wahr? - Is that true?  
** **Ausweispapiere. - Identification Papers  
** **Alles ist in Ordnung… genießen Sie Ihr Frühstück. - Everything is in order… enjoy you breakfast.  
** **Français? - French?**

 ** _A_ _uthor's Note: Hey, everybody! This was supposed to be done and posted before Christmas, but I got distracted… by Christmas.  
I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and a Happy Hanukkah. (Plus Kwanza and Boxing Day and all those other end of the year holidays.) This story will be short. As a matter of fact, I have one more chapter left to write. So, I'll be updating, consistently, over the next three or four days. Please enjoy! :D_**


	2. Papa Bear

****Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes. This story is for entertainment purposes only.  
The characters in this story are fictional, any resemblance to ********persons**** ** **living or dead is coincidental.****

* * *

"You just went to sleep?!" Patty cried out from her spot on the couch. The television program she had been watching long forgotten as she got wrapped up in Issac's tale. "You don't know either of them. I mean, they could have been working with the Gestapo!"

"Doubtful." Alan said, after a moment of consideration.

"Oh, really?" Patty turned on her cousin with a glare, "And why's that, Einstein?"

Alan, completely oblivious to her glare or her sarcasm, answered without hesitation, "Logically, if the man and his daughter were working with the Gestapo, they would have captured him when he came in and they would have no reason to lie to the other soldiers, either."

Patty's face turned red with embarrassment at being out thought by her much younger cousin, "Yeah, well maybe they wanted Grandpa to lead them to the other prisoners or something."

Alan's face scrunched up in confusion, "That doesn't make any sense. How could Grandpa lead them to the other prisoners if the plan was to split up?"

"Well, they didn't know that!" Patty snapped.

"Shut up, Patty." Jack said. He was irritated by the interruption to the story and the ridiculous argument.

Issac cleared his throat before Patty could make another comment, "You two knock it off or I won't finish the story."  
Patty crossed her arms over her chest and Jack looked away, while Alan apologized, "Sorry, Grandpa. Please, finish the story."

Issac rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Let's see… I didn't wake up 'til hours later. Inge brought me something to eat and a razor to get the stubble from my face. So, I cleaned up, ate, and then her father came and got me…"

H~H

"You said my papers weren't very good," I said, following Inge's father out to the truck parked behind the cafe. "shouldn't we wait until dark?"

He shook his head and opened the passenger side door. "I make this run every week." he said while gesturing me to get in the truck, "If I make big differences in my pattern the neighbors will be suspicious and then I will get a visit from the Gestapo."

I hesitated for a moment. That same fear I had before escaping bubbled up. "Maybe I should hide in the back." I suggested.

Inge's father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen," he said slowly, as if explaining to a small child, "I said the papers were good, but not enough to fool the Gestapo. Even if the camp is looking for escaped prisoners, they would be looking further south and it would be the regular camp personnel, not the Gestapo. You must get in the truck or I will be late. Schnell!" He pushed me into the truck and went around to the other side.

He revved the engine and pulled away from the cafe. As we drove through town, I couldn't help but think how normal it all looked… like something from back home. I marveled at that thought for a moment before considering the man beside me. He was a German, but he was helping me. If he was caught, he would be put into a camp or, more likely, shot… but he still helped. "Hey, uh..." I frowned. I was trusting this man with man with my life and I didn't even know his name. He gave me a sidelong glance and said, "Otto."

"Otto," I repeated, "um… where are we going?"

"To meet Papa Bear." he replied.

 _There's that name again…_ I thought, _Why is Otto taking me to see him._ "Otto," I tried again; although, I was keenly aware that the only answers he gave were incredibly cryptic. "What is this Papa Bear going to do?"

"He will get you out of Germany." Otto stated, brusquely. "Now don't ask anymore questions. You sleep, ja?" I swallowed the rest of my questions and shifted away from him. I refused to sleep, though. So instead, I watched the countryside appear and, just as quickly, pass by my window. The next hour and a half dragged by slowly and, much to my surprise, there was only one check point. The soldiers barely inspected my papers before waving Otto through. Otto, on the other hand, wasn't the least bit surprised. He gave a little shrug and said, simply, "This is my routine."

It was dusk by the time Otto pulled to a stop. I glanced around, but there was nothing to see. He got out and stretched. "Come on!" he called, impatiently and I scrambled out of the passenger side. As I came around to his side, he pointed east. "You will go that way." he instructed, "You will meet another American in the woods and he will tell you what to do next." He squinted at his watch. "You have plenty of time, so no need to hurry. Guten Abend." He got back in the truck and continued driving. I watched until the truck was completely out of sight, before stepping off the road and into the woods.

 _This is insane…_ I thought after trudging through the trees for over ten minutes, _I'm wandering through the woods,_ _right_ _in the heart of Germany, based on the word of some guy I don't even_ _know... and I'm on my way to meet an American named, Papa Bear._ I sighed, the more I thought about it, the crazier this whole fiasco seemed. I had just talked myself into turning around and following the road to whatever town I could find, when I heard something. I turned toward the noise and gasped as I spotted a figure jogging toward me. He slowed to a stop and panted, "You Lieutenant Wilkerson?"

"I, uh..." I stuttered, "yes… are you Papa Bear?" He took off his coat and began to undo the buttons to his uniform shirt. "Um… what are you doing?" I asked, raising an eye brow.

He handed me the coat and shirt and said, "You need to put on my clothes." I started to argue, but he cut me off, "Don't ask questions, just do as you're told, sir." I bit my lip in hesitation before tugging my suit coat off and tossing it to him. Within a couple of minutes, we had completely switched clothes. I heard the sharp screams of an alarm, similar to the air raid sirens of London. "Now, don't be frightened when the dogs come." he was telling me.

"Dogs!?" I practically yelped.

He grinned and pushed a lock of black hair out of his face, "They're harmless, just don't run." he plopped my hat onto his head, "The krauts won't hurt you either." He grabbed me as I attempted to take off, "Look, I'm sure this is confusing, but it will be explained to you later. Just keep your hands on your head and comply with the krauts. Agree with everything they do and say and you'll be fine." He looked behind his shoulder and gave me a half a smile, "Sorry, I gotta go." He took off in the direction from which I had come.

I heard the dogs barking and used every bit of my willpower not to run after him. Two large German Shepherds, barking and growling, burst into sight. I threw my hands up and didn't move. The guards, who were leading the shepherds, shouted the usual, "Halt!" and " _ **Hände hoch**_!" They dragged me through the woods, without much concern for my comfort.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I spotted it. Another prison camp, much like the one from which I had escaped. The bigger guard pushed the barrel of his gun into the middle of my back, " _ **Weitergehen!**_ "  
As I moved toward the camp, a sense of helplessness washed over me and mixed with the deep sense of betrayal. Somehow it managed to sap most of my energy. I barely managed to make it through the gates. The guard kept shoving me and then prodding me with his gun. I had almost made it to, what I assumed to be the kommandant's office, when one of his shoves caused me to stumble. I would have fallen, but someone caught me.

"Take it easy!" the man growled at the guard. He was American… a full colonel, too. He was in his mid-thirties with dark eyes that were, at this moment, smoldering with anger. "You alright, Olsen?" he asked, turning his attention to me. I stared back at him and nodded slowly, too dumfounded to speak. He guided me up the steps and into the office.

As soon as the colonel entered the room, a thin, balding man launched at him… and me. "How dare you think you could possibly escape from the toughest camp in Germany!" he screeched, "Hogan, I am holding you personally responsible!"

"Oh, calm down, Kommandant." Hogan said, soothingly. "They got him back."

The kommandant turned to me, "Who are you and why did you escape?"

"Sergeant Olsen, Kommandant." Hogan said, quickly. "You remember Olsen."

The kommandant looked me up and down, "Ah, yes… Sergeant Olsen." he adjusted his monocle and cleared his throat, "Well, that answers one question… how about the other?"

I looked over to Hogan and he leaned against the door frame, "I told you about his claustrophobia..."

I looked back to the kommandant, who shifted uncomfortably, "Claustrophobia?"

"You keep putting him in the cooler." Hogan crossed his arms, "As soon as he gets out, all he can think of is escape." the kommandant nodded, thoughtfully and Hogan winked at me, "the solution's simple, if you want to make sure he doesn't want to escape…"

"Yes, yes?" the kommandant pounced on this bread trail. Hogan leaned closer to the other man and said quietly, "Don't put him in the cooler."

The kommandant's eyes widened, "What?!"

Hogan, unfazed by the kommandant's incredulity, explained, "He desires to escape only after spending time in the cooler. If the cooler is removed, so is the desire to escape. Right, Olsen?" he clapped me on the back while I nodded. _This isn't going to work._ I thought, _There's no way he'll fall for this._

He considered Hogan's idea and nodded, "Ja, it's logical… but, what if the other men see the leniency I am showing Olsen and try to escape."

"They wouldn't do that." Hogan said, looking like a hurt puppy, "I, for one, am wounded that you'd think any of us would. Why, they think of you as a… sort of… father-figure. Besides, it's almost Christmas and this is our home… we wouldn't dream of running away." the last line was delivered with such sincerity that I almost believed it myself.

The kommandant sighed and looked down, almost as if he were ashamed. "Very well… I'm tired and, as you said, it is Christmas. Back to the barracks, both of you… dismissed!"

Hogan grabbed my elbow and pulled me to the door, "Thank you, Kommandant and merry Christmas!" He dragged me across the camp yard and into one of the long buildings, labeled 'Barracks 2'. He guided me into the common room of the barracks. Immediately, four men hurried over to us, all of them talking at once. From their uniforms and accents, I picked out two Americans, one Frenchman, and a Brit. "Settle down." Hogan said, pushing me forward and the others back. "Carter, take him to my office."

Carter, an American sergeant, led me into a small room just off of the common room. "You can sit on the bunk, if ya want." Carter said, shutting the door behind him. He was older than I, but not as old as Hogan, with lighter brown hair and a friendly smile. "Where are you from?" He asked, brightly. "What outfit are you with?"

"I, uh… I'm from Georgia." I said, sitting down on the bunk. "182nd bomb group."

"Hey," Carter grinned, "that's my outfit! How's Harry?" I frowned as I ran through my memory. "Sergeant Harry Mason… lead mechanic?" Carter pressed.  
I shook my head, "Sorry, he must've been before my time. You see, I was only assigned to the 182nd in July." I explained, "Sergeant McCabe was our chief mechanic."

"Yeah, maybe so..." Carter said thoughtfully, "What about my squadron commander, Major Bill Preston."

"Colonel Preston." I corrected, "He's now the group commander."

Carter's eyes widened and he let out a long whistle, "Wow."

I didn't really understand why, but I felt like he was acting. I got an itch at the back of my neck. _He sounds surprised, too surprised_ … _almost like he already knows,_ I shook that thought from my head as being ridiculous. _How can they possibly have access to news from London… but then again, I just broke into a German POW camp less then a day after escaping from another prison camp._ "What's going on here, sergeant?" I asked, thinking it would be better to be blunt. "Why am I here?"

He shifted uncomfortably, "You'll just have to wait for Colonel Hogan, sir." he opened the door behind him and backed through it. "I'll go get him. Don't move."

Carter closed the door and I stood. The uneasy feeling I'd had back in the woods was still nagging at me. I started to pace as I thought everything through. _Inge_ _and her father have to be apart of the Resistance…_ _which means they must be, too._ Even as I thought this, I dismissed it. There was no way they could be a part of the underground movement. They were prisoners of war, how could they possibly function in any helpful capacity?

"Lieutenant Wilkerson?"

I stopped mid-pace and turned toward the door. Hogan had stepped in and motioned for me to sit at the desk. The four other men, who had plastered us with questions, followed him in. "Carter thinks you're the real deal and Kinch confirmed your general description with London."

"You're in touch with London?" I interrupted.

The Brit in the far corner grinned and said, "Surprising, isn't it?"

Hogan continued, "You'll stay here tonight. We'll get you set up with some new papers and then, if everything goes well, you'll be on your way tomorrow evening."

"But, won't the krauts catch on? I mean the guy who I switched places with, looks nothing like me." I voiced my concerns. The kommandant not recognizing me wasn't too shocking, but surely someone would notice.

"Nope." Carter said, with confidence.

Hogan put a hand on the Brit's shoulder, "Newkirk, take him and start the photograph for the papers. LeBeau," he turned to the little Frenchman, "make him something to eat. It's a good thing you weren't captured for too long, Wilkerson. The Gestapo always look for the malnourished when hunting escapees."

LeBeau agreed, "Oui, sometimes we have to keep them for a week or more until they are fattened up enough to leave." he shook his head sadly, "That poor Austrian had to stay for almost a month."

I was puzzled, "But how?"

"You can't 'ave a starving man in a new suit of clothes…" Newkirk frowned, "it wouldn't look right."

I shook my head, "Not that… I mean how can you do this? Photographs, food, new clothes…"

Hogan held up his hand, "Don't ask so many questions. Just think of us as a traveler's aid society, accept the help and move on."

I allowed Newkirk to pull me out of the office. My eyes widened in shock. When we had made the papers at Stalag 13-D, we had used old personal photos, cropped them as closely as we could, and pasted them into the I.D. cards. They did things differently at Stalag 13-C! The common room was now set up into a mini passport station. There was a blanket hung from one of the top bunks creating a backdrop and about four feet in front of the backdrop stood a tripod with a small, Kodak camera. Newkirk pulled me over to the backdrop and sat me down on the footlocker. He called out, "Baker, did you get those coats I asked for?"

Another American in a sergeant's uniform stepped into sight. He had four suit coats on hangers in one and a couple of shirts in the other. "Just like you said." he handed the hangers to Newkirk. He looked me over and then said, "You sure these will fit?"

Newkirk nodded, "They're 'is size, all right. They might need taken in a bit, but we can do that after we get 'is picture." Newkirk handed me a shirt and coat, "Put these on while I find you a tie."

He was back by the time I had gotten changed. They didn't give me any pants because they were only taking a head shot. Newkirk and Carter argued about my hair for a little while before Kinch stopped them. Kinch brushed my hair to the side and then mentioned that I should probably get my hint of stubble shaved.

After I shaved, they positioned me in front of the camera again. Out of natural instinct, I smiled. "No, no, no." Newkirk barked, "These are Nazis, they don't smile!"

"Just look stony and cruel." Carter instructed. I did my best, which resulted in Newkirk groaning and rubbing his eyes. "Maybe not, quite like that." Carter said.

"Of course not like that!" Newkirk snapped, "'E looks like 'e 'as gas!"

"I'm sorry." Carter mumbled, "I was just trying to help."

"I don't need your 'elp, Andrew." Newkirk said, his tone a little less snappish. "Maybe see if LeBeau could use a 'and with supper?" Carter nodded and bounded over to the other side of the room. Newkirk looked back to me, "Just look at the camera and don't think anything. Don't smile, don't frown." He snapped my picture. "Alright, Kinch. 'E's all yours."

Kinch grabbed my elbow and lead me to the table in the center of the room. He told me to take off the coat and roll up my sleeve. He then proceeded to fingerprint the forefinger of each hand and place it on stiff I.D. paper. "There." he said, "Go wash you hands and get something to eat. We're done with you tonight."

I went over to the wash bucket that I had used earlier to shave and washed my hands. I changed back into the American uniform and shuffled over to Carter and LeBeau. "I was told to get something to eat." I said, quietly. LeBeau grinned as he quickly dished up a large bowl of what looked like stew and handed it to me. I accepted it gratefully and ate hungrily, "This is good." I complimented around a mouthful.

LeBeau smiled, "That, mon ami, is ragout."

Carter also dished himself a bowl, "LeBeau is the best chef in all of France." he boasted, sitting next to me. "After the war's over, he's gonna get himself a restaurant in Paris."

"Andre!" LeBeau chided, his face flushing with embarrassment. "The lieutenant doesn't care about that."

I grinned, "I don't mind. After the war is over and you get your restaurant, I'll come to Paris just to get more of this ragout." LeBeau smiled, appreciatively. I took another bite and then asked, "Hey, LeBeau… can I call you LeBeau?"

"But, of course." he laughed, "It is my name."

"How did you end up here?" I asked, "Doing this?"

"I was captured outside of Salon in 1940." LeBeau shrugged, "I bounced around prison camps until I landed here. I was a bad influence on the prisoners." he lifted his head, proudly. "I was a part of seven escape attempts."

"Then what happened?" Carter asked, eagerly.

LeBeau frowned, "You have already heard this story, Andre."

"Yeah, well." Carter mumbled, "I want to hear it again."

The Frenchman rolled his eyes, but continued his story, "Well, the kommandant who was here before Klink got sent to the eastern front. When Klink was brought in from Stuttgart last year, he intended to transfer all of the troublesome prisoners, like me and Newkirk, farther east. Le Colonel stood up for us, even though he had only been here for a month or two. He convinced Klink to move me and Newkirk to barracks two and the rest, as they say, is history."

I pondered his story for a few moments, before Kinch tapped my shoulder. "You need to get some sleep. We'll be up bright and early tomorrow and we still have a lot of work to do." I stood and followed him over to one of the bunks and jumped up to the top bunk. He handed me a blanket and bid me good-night. I rolled over onto my back and it wasn't long before I fell asleep.

* * *

 **Translation:**

 _ **Hände hoch - Hands up  
**_ _ **Weitergehen - Keep Moving**_ _ **  
**_


	3. Stalag 13

****Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes. This story is for entertainment purposes only.  
The characters in this story are fictional, any resemblance to ********persons**** ** **living or dead is coincidental.****

* * *

"Are you sure this is a true story, Grandpa?" Patty asked. Issac puffed on his pipe while Jack jumped to his grandfather's defense.

"You calling Grandpa a liar?!"

"No." Patty argued, "I just think maybe he's exaggerating."

Issac laughed, a deep hearty laugh that filled the room. "Ah, Patty, my girl, if I were you I wouldn't believe it either, but it's true. I promise you."

"But where did they find a camera and all that other stuff in the middle of a prison camp in Germany?" she pressed.

"Ugh, Patty!" Jack ground out, losing his patience with the constant interruptions.

Issac leaned over to her a said, "How about I finish the story, hmm?"

H~H

"RAUS!"

I jolted upright and quickly scrambled out of bed. I fumbled for my coat and boots, as I had slept in my uniform… Well, not my uniform, but you know what I mean. The men around me got up leisurely and, to my complete and utter surprise, they actually bantered with the massive guard. Carter said something about wanting to sleep in and Newkirk said something about wishing he had escaped last night, to which the guard barked, "Jolly jokers… raus, raus, RAUS! Everybody up for roll call."

"Alright, Schultz." Hogan called from his doorway, "We're up."

The guard, Schultz, humphed and left the building. The men got dressed and chatted genially as I sat at the table completely dressed with my chin in my hands.

"What's a matter?" Newkirk asked, plopping down beside me. He had just finished getting dressed and was sitting at the table to put on his boots. He pulled out a cigarette and offered me one.

I shook my head, "No, thanks, I only smoke a pipe."

Newkirk rolled his eyes and put on his boots. "So, what's a matter?" he repeated.

"You're all so relaxed." I said, "In my stalag you got dressed as quickly as you could and hurried out before they came in to get you."

Newkirk grinned, "It used to be that way 'ere, too." He lit his cigarette and took a deep drag, "Colonel 'Ogan sat down with Klink when 'e first got 'ere and suggested that Schultz wake us up ten minutes earlier. Klink objected until 'Ogan told 'im that it would reduce the stress on the guards and us."

"But why should Kommandant Klink care about that." I asked, surprised to hear of a kommandant who was concerned about the stress levels of the prisoners.

"'Cause 'Ogan told him that if we weren't so stressed, we wouldn't 'ave call to be escaping all the time." Newkirk said this in such a matter-of-fact tone that I nodded, as if that explanation made perfect sense. Newkirk stood up, stretched, and as Carter walked by, he grabbed the American's cap.

"Hey!" Carter hollered. "What are you doing?"

Newkirk grinned and tossed it to me, "Put that on and pull down low to your face. Sorry, Carter, but Olsen's 'at doesn't fit 'im."

Carter grumbled about it being cold, but he didn't ask for the cap back. Hogan came into the common room and ushered everyone outdoors. He grabbed my elbow as I passed and said, "You stand in the back row next to Carter and keep your mouth shut."

Once outside, I found Carter and slid beside him. He shuffled and yawned as Schultz walked down the line counting. He counted me and started to move passed, but stopped. "Who are you?" he asked.

I was starting to panic, _I knew this wouldn't work._

"Come on, Schultz." Carter said, rolling his eyes, "It's Olsen."

"Olsen?" Schultz looked me up and down. "He is the same height as Olsen, he has blue eyes like Olsen, but he is not Olsen… Colonel Hogan!"

I tensed and glanced around anxiously, but everyone else were as calm as could be. Schultz rounded the front of the other line and whined at Hogan, "Where is Olsen?"

"He's gone out for a bit, but don't worry, Schultz. I found someone to take his place." Hogan answered easily.

The door to the kommandantur opened and Klink stepped out bellowing for a report. Schultz moaned, "Please, Colonel Hogan."

"Klink wants his report, Schultz." Hogan prodded.

"Schultz, dummkopf!" Klink stomped down to where Schultz was still looking imploringly at Hogan. "What is the report?"

"Herr Kommandant," Schultz saluted, "I beg to report that all prisoners are accounted for… I think."

Klink gaped at him, "You think they are accounted for? Can't you count?"

Schultz began to stutter and blather until his superior shouted for him to count again. Klink followed Schultz down the line as he counted. "Elf, zwelf, dreizehn..." The heavy set guard hesitated when he got to me.

"Vierzehn, dummkopf!" Klink shouted, "Vierzehn."

Schultz nodded, counted me, and moved on. At the end, he announced all prisoners accounted for. Klink stomped back to his office and Schultz dismissed the roll call. Carter and Newkirk pushed me toward the barracks while Hogan dealt with Schultz.

Inside the barracks, I sat down at the table and started to laugh. _The_ _krauts are_ _like_ _the_ _trained monkeys at the circus,_ _and Colonel Hogan's the ring master._

"What's so funny?" Newkirk asked.

"You just do whatever you want..." I choked out, between fits of laughter. "and they're clueless."

The men around me just smiled and went back to their business. Carter and Kinch stretched out on their bunks to get a little bit more sleep. LeBeau began to make breakfast while I watched, fascinated, as he pulled fresh eggs from the coal bucket. He cracked the eggs into a bowl, added some reconstituted milk, and whisked them together with a fork.

Hogan stepped into the barracks and came up to me. He glanced at LeBeau's work, "Crepes?"

"Oui, mon Colonel," LeBeau said, without looking up from his bowl.

"Lieutenant," Hogan turned to me and smiled, "if everything goes well, you'll be out of here tomorrow afternoon."

"How," I joked, "the kommandant's staff car?"

He chuckled, "Schultz put up too much of a fuss the last time we did that."

"Made us promise not ta do it again," Newkirk tacked on, his eyes full of laughter. Although, I will admit, I wasn't quite sure whether they were joking or being serious.

"Newkirk will get your suit tailored today," Hogan said, more as an instruction to Newkirk than to inform me of the days agenda. "You can use my office. Oh, and Newkirk, try to brush up his German."

"Right, guv."

I frowned as Hogan went to his office. "Good luck with that," I mumbled. With a Southern accent like mine, learning German and its accent was almost impossible.

LeBeau grinned, "Don't worry, mon ami, I will help."

"Right," Newkirk said, as he fixed himself a cup of tea. "because that'll 'elp 'im learn."

LeBeau humphed, "If you don't want my help..."

"No, no," Newkirk held up is hand. "If you ever 'ave a difficult task, call in the French, that's what I always say."

"No breakfast for you." LeBeau sniped.

Newkirk chose to ignore this comment, instead he rolled his eyes and took a large swallow of his tea. LeBeau was producing the crepes quickly and with ease. The men of the barracks took them fresh off the stove and devoured them before they had a chance to get cold. I shook my head in amazement for what felt like the millionth time since I got there. These men made being in a prison camp feel almost like summer camp.

H~H

After breakfast, Hogan took the rest of the men out to do morning calisthenics. Newkirk and LeBeau took me into his office and began the fitting process. LeBeau drilled me on common German phrases and, like I had feared, learning the phrases turned out to be far easier than the accent.

" _ **Hallo, Ticket nach Frankfurt, bitte,**_ " I tried again.

LeBeau grimaced, "Maybe we should put on his papers that he is mute."

Newkirk shook his head, "That won't do… you 'ave ta try 'arder."

" _ **Hallo, Ticket nach Frankfurt, bitte.**_ "

I was getting frustrated. We had been at it for hours and it still had what Newkirk called 'a yank tinge'. I knew it sounded wrong, much different than how they were pronouncing it, but I just couldn't grasp it.

" _ **Oh, frère… enseigner André était plus facile,**_ " LeBeau muttered.

"What was that?" I asked, tersely.

"Never mind," Newkirk said, acting almost as a referee, "Why don't you take a break, Louis?" LeBeau glared at him and Newkirk hurried up to add, "It's almost lunch time and we can finish afterward."

LeBeau nodded reluctantly and left the office. I sighed, "I don't know why I can't get it… I mean, you guys sound great."

Newkirk smiled, "You're trying to learn somethin' in a day that LeBeau and me 'ave done for a couple of years."

"You've been doing all of this for years…" my eyes widened in wonderment.

"Learning German, yes," was the patient reply, "'elping people find their way back 'ome, no."

He had fitted the jacket from last night, so that it didn't appear baggy. He was now working on sizing a pair of pants, which was not any easy task with my proportions being shorter than average with a slight build.

"Ouch!" I rubbed my thigh where Newkirk had stuck me with a pin.

"Sorry, mate," he adjusted the pin and slid it in place. "This is going to be a bit 'arder than I thought. I'm gonna 'ave to completely rework the trousers."

"Can you do that?" I asked twisting around to look at him.

"Course, it'll just take me longer." he replied, a faraway look on his face. "If Minsk were 'ere, 'ed whip it up in a couple of 'ours."

"Minsk?" I prodded, my curiosity getting the better of me. "Who's he?"

"A good friend." Newkirk paused, "He was brought to the stalag in '41 and 'e 'elped at the beginning, but not long after Klink came, Burkhalter ordered all of the ruskies into different stalags." Newkirk finished his pinning and motioned me down from the box. "See, 'e came from a long line of Moscow tailors. I already knew a bit from working for a gentleman's tailor in London so Minsk trained me 'fore 'e left." He cleared his throat, just as LeBeau and Schultz came into the room.

"You cannot go in there," LeBeau said, resolutely, despite the fact that they were both already in.

"You must go to the mess hall." Schultz argued back. "The kommandant has a special announcement and he has..." Schultz finally caught sight of me and Newkirk… more importantly, the sewing supplies and the suit of clothes. "Newkirk!" he exclaimed, "how many times have I told you not to do this here? If anyone catches you, oh boy… you will be in big trouble." he drew out the last word and tutted.

"I'm just about done 'ere, Schultzie," Newkirk said, completely undeterred by the guard's threat.

" _ **Sehr gut,**_ " Schultz said. "You, LeBeau, and..." he paused and looked at me, "and Olsen need to go to the mess hall, right away."

"All right, we'll be there in a minute." Newkirk gathered up his supplies.

"Right now." Schultz insisted.

" _ **Einen moment, bitte!**_ " I barked.

"Very good, mon ami!" LeBeau praised, "I could barely hear any accent."

"Guess 'e does better under pressure," Newkirk grinned and clapped me on the back.

My face flushed at the praise while Schultz's eyes darted between the three of us.

"I-I-I know nothing. I see nothing. I hear NOTHING!" he scrambled out of the barracks as quickly as he could.

We all had a good laugh before LeBeau suggested that we should see what announcement the kommandant had. Newkirk grouched that it was probably just the Red Cross Christmas packs. I followed them out and across the yard. I could see a large building, which I assumed was the mess hall, that was filling with men. I spotted Carter and Kinch once we got inside they were standing along the back of the hall.

"They giving out the Christmas packages?" Newkirk asked, sliding beside Carter.

"Gee, I dunno," Carter shrugged, "Langenscheidt came and got the colonel an hour ago."

"And he doesn't look very happy." Kinch observed.

Colonel Hogan stood beside Kommandant Klink with his arms crossed and his lips pressed together in a thin line. I had to agree with Kinch, even though I didn't know the colonel well. The kommandant seemed uncomfortable, as well. I stood with the heroes and waited for the rest of the men to finish filing in and settle down. A small part of me couldn't help but wonder if this announcement would effect my escape, but the other part was genuinely concerned for the men of this camp, in particular the small band of heroes, who were risking their lives for me.

* * *

 **Translation:**

 ** _Hallo, Ticket nach Frankfurt, bitte –_ _Hello, ticket to Frankfurt, please._**

 ** _Oh, frère… enseigner André était plus facile. -_ _Oh, brother… teaching Andre was easier._**

 _ **Sehr gut –**_ _ **very good**_

 _ **Einen moment, bitte –**_ _ **One moment, please**_

 **Author's Note: Hey, everybody! There will be one last part and then this story is over. I won't post that last part until sometime after the eighth of January. (I will be very busy for the last three days of Reviewathon.)**

 **I also won't be posting any new chapters on my current stories and/or starting any new stories until February. I have to go back and edit my old stories so that will be time consuming.** **I wish you all the best and can't wait for the year ahead!**

 **P.** **S. It's hard to believe, but in a week my first story, 'The Heroes, The Defector, and The Factory' will be celebrating it's first anniversary! Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and encouraged me during my first postings. Cheers!**


	4. Home

****Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes. This story is for entertainment purposes only.  
The characters in this story are fictional, any resemblance to ********persons**** ** **living or dead is coincidental.****

* * *

All eyes turned to Patty. "What?" she snapped, bobbing her head with all the attitude she could muster.

"You don't have anything to say?" Jack groused. "You usually do."

She rolled her eyes, "Just finish the story, please. What was the big announcement?"

"I don't remember," Issac teased. "I'm so old..."

"Grandpa!" Patty sighed in exasperation.

Issac's eyes twinkled and said, "The kommandant hemmed and hawed for a few minutes before he got to the gist of it..."

H~H

"As I am sure you all know, Christmas is just around the corner," Klink said, forcing a smile. I noticed the men seemed less than amused, rather annoyance seemed to be the presiding emotion. "This means that you have Red Cross Christmas packages due you."

Klink paused and I felt the tension in the room building.  
"So 'and 'em out, all ready!" a Brit from across the room hollered. Klink looked to Hogan, who motioned for him to spit it out.

"Well, unfortunately there has been a slight problem," Klink cleared his throat. "Stalag Thirteen is responsible for the distribution of all Red Cross packages to every stalag… We make a point of separating yours first and then sending the rest where they need to go..."

"Meaning?" Kinch asked, more calm than the rest of the men, most of whom began jeering. Klink wrung his hands and looked back to Hogan, who had enough.

"Meaning that although they usually separate ours first, this time they didn't," Hogan said. "Our Christmas packs were shipped east."  
The men dissolved into angry complaints. Klink looked around, worriedly, for the guards as Hogan called for his men to settle. I looked over to the Heroes. Carter looked like he wanted to cry, he was that miserable. LeBeau was mumbling about having to completely rearrange Christmas dinner, while Kinch crossed his arms over his chest in a similar manner to Hogan.

Newkirk, on the other hand, was shouting with the rest of the men except he was hollering that, 'the krauts likely stole the packages'.

I cleared my throat slightly, "Um, I don't think that's helping, Newkirk."

He glared at me, but Kinch's quick agreement prompted him to hold his tongue.

Kinch poked LeBeau and pointed toward the French and Canadian prisoners. LeBeau nodded and hurried over, as quickly as he could. Kinch then tapped Newkirk's shoulder and he nodded, winding his way to the British section. Carter, following their lead, headed for one side of the large American group and Kinch the other. I watched in fascination as the four men went through each group and quieted them all down in a few moments.

Klink looked noticeably relieved and continued his announcement, "Although you will not receive your packages until after Christmas." Klink glanced at Hogan again, "And as Colonel Hogan has reminded me that this was our error, I have agreed to an extra slice of white bread for every prisoner and an hour of extra light for three weeks."

If Klink was hoping for a cheer or a round of applause in return for his 'generous' offer, he was sorely mistaken. The men weren't impressed, for white bread did not even come close to equaling the goodies that came in the Christmas packs.

"I'll put in a request for more packages," Hogan assured them, "and Kommandant Klink will work with the Red Cross to expedite them. It's not what we wanted, but there isn't a thing we can do about it. Now, I want all of you to go back to your barracks and be patient."

"Dismissed!" Klink tacked on at the end.

As the men shuffled out, I managed to find Carter and walked with him. "Sorry about the way this turned out," I said, kicking myself for the weak sentiment. I did feel bad for them, but I was overjoyed that the announcement wasn't more serious.

Carter shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "It's okay," he said, "It's what I signed up for."

"No one signs up to get captured," I smirked.

"I did," he insisted. "Well, I didn't enlist to be captured, but I did volunteered to come back."

"To come back…" I repeated before it hit me, "You've been through this process before, that's what LeBeau meant when he said it was easier teaching you the German."

Carter cracked a smile and nodded, "I went through a few months ago."

"How ever did you end up back here?"

"I tried to settle back into my squadron, but it just wasn't the same," he gazed out across the camp yard. "I tried to focus on getting back to Indiana and Mary-Jane, but when Colonel Hogan sent word that he wanted me to come back…"

"Wait," I grabbed his arm. "You mean the Colonel specifically requested you?"

He nodded, "Said he thought I would fit well with the rest of the team, so we arranged for the plane to have "engine trouble" and have to have an emergency landing. The Colonel made sure that I was assigned here."

"You've never regretted that decision?" I asked, genuinely curious. To end up like LeBeau, captured and stuck here making the best of it was one thing, but to willingly sacrifice your freedom for the long haul was an entirely different thing.

"Only when the letters are long on coming," he half-joked.

"And your girl?" I pressed, my thoughts drifting to my fiancée, Lucy. She would've throttled me if I'd made that kind of decision.

"She doesn't know that this was voluntary," He shrugged, "but she'll wait for me. I write her letters all the time, even the ones I send to my folks have notes for her. But…"

"But?" I studied him. He looked as if he wanted to ask something, but couldn't decide whether he should or not. Finally, he slid a small, cream colored envelope out of his jacket pocket and into my palm.

"If you could send this to her," his eyes held a small sliver of hope. "When you get back to London, I mean. I explained everything to her… not about what we do, but just… I don't know." He scratched the back of his head, "I just want I want her to know how much I love her."

I smiled knowingly, "You bet I will."

"Don't tell the other fellas, huh?" he shifted, awkwardly. "They already have enough to pick on me about."

I slipped the letter into my pocket and agreed to be discreet. He thanked me just as Newkirk strolled up and pushed his way between us, draping an arm over each of our shoulders.

"Been looking for you," the Brit said. "We 'ave to finish your lessons, but first we should 'ead to the mess for lunch."

Carter brightened and began to chatter away about what he hoped was for lunch until Newkirk told him it was potato soup, just like it had always been and will always be. Carter insisted that he had a good feeling about lunch and that it was going to be good. He kept insisting right up until the ladle-full of potato soup was poured into his bowl.

H~H

After Lunch, we returned to the barracks. LeBeau and Carter each took turns instructing me on phrases and accents while Newkirk sewed. Every so often Newkirk would have me try on the suit and re-pin it. He was meticulous in his craft, saying that a man in a properly fitted suit was less suspicious than one with an ill-fitting suit.

When LeBeau and Carter were called away for camp duties, I took the opportunity to relax a little. The German was still hard for me and I tried to remember what Newkirk had said earlier, but I felt like the whole escape depended on my learning it. Pushing the lessons to the back of my mind, I watched Newkirk sew.

He slid the needle in and out of the material with easy and left a straight, sturdy line of stitches behind. I smiled asI thought, _I have the strangest suspicion that this suit will last for years._ _I'll have to set it aside when I get back to England. Lucy would love to see it... just wait 'til I tell her this whole tale._ I frowned, _Although, I might leave out the part about Inge... no sense asking for trouble._

"Oi," Newkirk said, interrupting my internal monologue.

"Huh?" I blinked a couple if times.

"I said, penny for your thoughts," he repeated.

"It's nothing," I flushed with more than a little embarrassment. "It's just that you reminded me of my girl in Georgia."

"I remind you of your girl?" Newkirk stopped sewing, "I don't know whether or not to punch you in the nose."

I laughed, "No, no. She sews, I thought better than anyone I know, but I think you could give her a run for her money."

He grinned, "Your girl got a name?"

"Lucy."

"Is she, uh," he winked and gestured a overtly feminine form, "pretty?"

"Is she?" I sighed, "she's the best looking girl in the county. We were gonna get married once I went home." I watched him for a moment, thinking of Carter. I wondered if the Brit had one of is own, "You have a girl?"

"I have one for every day of the week," he said and with such sincerity that my jaw dropped.

"How?"

He frowned, "what do you mean 'ow?"

"How do you keep track of them all?" I asked, my eyes wide in amazement. "Do they know about each other or..."

"Of course not," Newkirk looked offended. "What kind of a bloke do you think I am? They don't get together on Wednesdays and 'ave a ruddy party!"

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"They all know it's nothing serious and they're all adults." Newkirk snorted, "why, I bet 'alf of 'em 'ave new blokes by now... except Rita."

"Rita?"

"36-24-36..." he sighed, dreamily. I turned bright red when I realized he was listing her measurements. "She's the only one who writes regular."

"What day of the week was she?" I joked.

"Sunday," he said, soberly. "She's the kind you take 'ome to meet your mum... the one you make plans with."

"Did you? Make plans with her, I mean," I asked. It wasn't polite, but I was curious.

"Never got around to it, I guess." He shrugged, "Now, try this."

He handed me the trousers and waited while I put them on. He had me turn and inspected the fit from the back, before pronouncing them done. I thanked him and was going to ask more about Rita, but Carter returned from his task and suggested we continue with the German.

The lessons continued for the rest of the day and into the evening. We only took two breaks, once for supper and the other for roll call. I tell you that by the time lights-out was ordered, I was ready for bed. _This time tomorrow, I'll be on my way home…_ I smiled from my curled up ball on the top bunk. _I'll be back in London by Christmas…_

H~H

I was bright and chipper when I jumped out of bed the next morning. The rest of the men smiled knowingly, as I chatted away with Carter. When Hogan ordered everyone out for roll call, I was the only one who jumped up with any sort of enthusiasm.

Schultz was still a little bothered by the fact that I wasn't Olsen, but he counted me with out hesitation. Klink gave a small speech, he'd been in contact with members of the International Red Cross and they would be contacting the Americans about the packages. The men grumbled, but they were much more controlled than yesterday.

After dismissal and breakfast, courtesy of LeBeau, the heroes set about the finishing touches for my departure. Hogan went over my escape with me.

In half an hour, a veterinary truck would come in and change out the dogs. He'd only be changing two of the hounds, so there would be plenty of room in the back for me and my luggage. The small suitcase contained a change of clothes and a pair of pajamas.  
Newkirk provided me with a wallet containing my identification papers and two hundred marks. I was impressed with the amount of detail these men put into each escape.

The veterinarian was due to arrive at eleven and the camp was set to hold their soccer match at ten thirty. "How will I get into the truck without the guards noticing?" I asked.

"The guards enjoy watching the games," Hogan explained. "It breaks up the monotony. They'll pay more attention to our game, but if they start to lose interest, a small argument between the teams should gain it back."

"Righto, gents," Newkirk said. He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically, "Europe vs. America?"

"Do we get the Canadians or not?" Carter asked.

"Of course not," Newkirk rolled his eyes, "The Canadians are under 'is Majesty's 'ead."

"I thought they were an independent country," Carter's face twisted up in confusion.

"They are, but we share a monarch..." his eyes narrowed, as he directed his look at Kinch. "So, they're ours."

Kinch sighed, "It was worth a shot, Andrew."

Seeing my befuddlement, Hogan leaned in and whispered, "The Europeans and Canadians are the best soccer players in camp and when they team up..."

"The U.S. always loses," I finished.

He nodded and checked his watch, "Okay fellas, get ready to start the match. I'll get Wilkerson out through the tunnel."

"Who'll be referee?" Carter asked, "that's usually your role, sir."

"Get Schultz to do it," Hogan dismissed them. "Wilkerson, come with me."

I followed the Colonel over to Kinch's bunk and my jaw dropped. The Colonel banged on the bed frame of the upper bunk and Kinch's bed raised. As I took in the underground room below the barracks, I couldn't help but think how appropriately named the operation was. _Papa Bear… this is a fairytale._ I didn't have much time to dwell on that before Hogan rushed me through the complex tunnels.

I was growing more and more turned around the deeper we got, thankfully Hogan knew exactly where we were. I was about to ask where we were going when I found myself in a small room, of sorts. Much like the first room with the radio, it had a ladder, but it was much smaller. In one corner was a rack with a suitcase on the floor underneath it. I spotted the suit Newkirk made for me and assumed that this must be the changing room.

"Before you get changed," Hogan began. "I would like you to give me Carter's letter."

"Sir?"

"The letter he gave you to post in London," he held out is hand and waited for me to comply.

"How did you know?" I asked, turning over the envelope.

He slipped it into his jacket pocket and smiled, sadly, "All of the new prisoners try it, especially at Christmas time."

"I promised him I'd deliver it," I said. "I mean, what harm could it do?"

"Our letters go through German censors," he calmly explained, "when they go out and when they come in. If Carter's girl writes something referencing this letter than the krauts will know that mail has gotten through uncensored and we will have quite a bit of explaining to do." He handed the suit to me, "besides if for whatever reason, the Nazis search you and they find this, you'll find yourself in Gestapo interrogation so fast it will make your head spin."

I knew he was right, but I still felt bad about breaking my word. "There has to be something I can do… You've done so much for me, I just want to return the favor. Maybe I could get London to send more Red Cross packages, right away?" I offered.

"No, that needs to go through channels, too," he took Olsen's uniform as I removed each article. "There's no favor, Lieutenant, you're doing your duty and we're doing ours. Just get back to England and fly the missions."

By the time I finished dressing, Hogan was climbing the ladder and lifting up the trapdoor. He lifted it a crack and made sure the guards were distracted by the match. He climbed out and lowered the door. I took his place on the ladder and waited.

A moment latter, he opened the door and I handed the suitcase to him before I climbed out and into the dog's kennel. I didn't have time to ponder this latest development before an older man, the veterinarian I assumed, was directing me into the back of his truck.

One of the shepherds licked my face pleasantly and whined until I patted her head. Hogan shook my hand and wished me luck before closing the doors. A moment later, I felt the truck jolt and move forward. I held my breath when we stopped for the guards at the gate.

 _Don't check the truck,_ I silently willed. _Please, don't check the truck._ I heard the vet say something and the guard responded. All of a sudden the two shepherds began to bark and growl. I scrunched into the corner and waited. The truck moved forward and I resumed breathing, allowing my whole body to relax. It wasn't over, but for the moment, I was out of the woods… or the prison camp, in this case.

H~H

"Supper's ready!" Lucy called, from the dinning room.

Issac stood and made his way over to the door.

"Grandpa!" this time it was, Jack who protested. "What happened to the heroes?"

"And how did you get home?" Patty added.

Issac smiled, wistfully. "The vet dropped me off in Hammelburg with instructions on how to get in touch with my next contact. I went to the train depot and bought a ticket to Frankfurt. From Frankfurt, I traveled to Bonn, then on to Brussels and so on until I reached the English Channel. I took a submarine ride to England and was in London by Boxing Day."

"And the heroes?" Jack asked, again.

"I don't know," Issac admitted, "Their mission was top secret. I was ordered to forget them and anyone who helped me. I went back to my unit, got my twenty-fifth mission, and came home."

"Then what?" Patty pressed.

He chuckled, "I married your grandma and while I was back in England, your dad was born."

"I was named after that colonel," Robert said, picking up his young son and taking him into the dinning room.

Issac nodded, "and your brothers were named after the other heroes."

"What about Kinch?" Alan asked, sliding into his seat between his mother and father.

"I never found out Kinch's first name," Issac sat at the head of the table and took his wife hand. "And your grandma just wouldn't go for Kinch as a baby name," the whole table laughed and Issac held up his hands, "No more questions, let's say grace and eat."

"Can I say grace?" Jack asked.

"May I," his father corrected.

"Go ahead," Issac nodded.

Jack folded his hands and bowed his head, "Dear God, thank you for this food and all the presents we all got, we really like them. Thanks for letting all of us be here together…" he paused, "But thanks most of all for those heroes that helped Grandpa get home. Amen."

A chorus of Amen's followed and the Wilkerson family dug into Christmas Dinner. Issac carved the turkey and Lucy passed the green bean casserole. They ate until they could eat no more and then one by one, Issac saw each of his children and grandchildren to their cars. As he watched them drive away, he wondered for the millionth time where their namesakes were… did they make it through the war? Were they liberated by the army? Or did the Germans finally figure out their little escape shop and close them down?

 _I hope they were freed and that they got home safely._ He put his arm around Lucy's waist and kissed her forehead. _I hope they had all the happiness that I've had these past thirty years…_

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: I am aware I didn't do any 'back-story' for Hogan or Kinch, but for some reason they never seem to hang out with the escapees... maybe that's the privilege of command. Anyhow,_** ** _I hope you enjoyed this little story. I'm sorry for how long it took me to update, but I've been working on other things... s_** ** _uch as a Hogan's Heroes crossover!_** ** _But first, I hope to update 'December Nightmare' so stay tuned!_** ** _Much love - Elise_**


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